


Wyoming

by senttothebrink



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Comfort, Fluff, Human Castiel, Human!Castiel - Freeform, M/M, Reunion Sex, Sam travels, Travel, and Castiel waits, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 13:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/senttothebrink/pseuds/senttothebrink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel grabs Sam’s hair by trailing his hands up the back of his neck eliciting a groan from the other man; Sam finds that one spot near Castiel’s hip that drives him wild, makes his fingers clutch at white sheets and Sam’s name slip out in a rushed pant. Exhales are lost in tousled hair, gasps coming up short in the hollow of quivering throats, easy laughter drawn from kiss plumped lips because they're giddy still even after the first time. Every hour is a second of Sam's absence that they reclaim, yet every smile and touch is worth a month by itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wyoming

**Author's Note:**

> Written to the song: Northern Wind by City & Colour. (I suggest listening to it, if you can.)

Sam travels alone in Europe with nothing but a pack full of clothes and currency that makes his head ache. It’s a small price to pay for his little adventure. Except for that fact that everywhere he goes he misses Castiel terribly. He’s reminded every time he looks at the stained glass windows of the Siena Cathedral, the Altmühl Valley’s river caught between trees, hills, and homely abodes, Laitaure Lake in Sweden with it’s mirror water and pristine mountains stretching through lavender clouds in the distance. They're all breathtaking, all intricate like the looks they share when they don't feel like talking, the smiles he wears when Sam's done something he thinks is cute, the subtle crinkle of his brow when he's irritated. The wind that combs through foreign trees reminds Sam of Castiel's sighs when he comfortable at night and he wraps around Sam the way those rivers carve through valleys becoming permanently etched in the foreground just like how Castiel is ingrained into him.

It brings Sam a little bit of comfort when he’s feeling alone and can’t contact anyone for a while. Those tracks of time seem to stretch for forever. It leaves him drifting like leaves kicked up by an autumn wind. He flutters free from place to place, stopping only when the days get bad and he needs to hear Castiel's voice through bad phone reception. Their talks are brief, mostly, but Sam wants to tell him everything he's seen and that he's drawing at the Pont des Arts in France where people busy themselves adding padlocks to an already packed fence covered in an array colorful locks. Couples lean over black metal railing, hand in hand, and throw away the keys. Sam sketches quick, sure to capture the moment, but his mind is already thinking it'd be nice to bring Castiel here for this. And Paris at night, of course, when the streets glow softest, dappled by curved spheres of candle light yellow.

He learns the customs of those he encounters, gestures one should never make (like how putting your hands in your pocket while you're talking to someone is rude in Germany; Sam found that out the hard way), and even ends up playing with little Italian children who decide that his height isn’t frightening but inviting. He speaks a bit of each language but finds Italian the worst out of all of them as well as driving through Italy, specifically near Rome. Sam never thought he was the type to yell until the veins popped out of his neck, but he almost lost his life at least twice during his visit when a young man nearly sideswiped him while getting out of his car- and Sam doesn't even want to remember those small, half lunch boxes on wheels. A lot of people smiled his way when he drove, laughed too at his clear discomfort. Afterward, he decided to stick with walking only unless he could take some mode of transport that didn't make him feel like he was part of a circus act.

During the nights, Sam writes to Castiel wherever he settles, either at a fairly nice inn or somewhere that looks as rustic as when it was built hundreds of years ago. He curls up at a tiny desk, on his bed (sometimes a thin mattress or mat, other times a real one), in the corner of his rooms, and scribbles by electric or candle light. It varies from week to week, but he manages. Sam describes the people from every country, every town, village, city that he’s come across, yet focuses on how an elderly of some Icelandic Inn with a ridiculously long name that he can't pronounce, where he is currently, roped him in to help with the heavy lifting for a night in exchange for a room. Sure, it was back breaking work even though the weather was more mild in March, it was still cold, but at least he had a bed and a meal for the night.

It’s chilly now in his room with a single bed and relatively working heat as he writes that he likes Iceland best. Nothing is cramped together, aside for the rooms but that's always been a problem no matter where Sam went. There are days where he walks until he finds a place to stay or catches a ride to the nearest town. He enjoys the scenery, the places, and the history steeped with Nordic tradition and tales of Vikings. Even though the architecture is nothing compared to say, Austria or France, the people are always friendly; he’s ended up drinking with more than a few of them, invited to stay at their houses, offered help to get around in whatever way possible and on one occasion gifted money for a room during his first few days there.

 _My favorite thing though_ , Sam pens quickly as he sits at an old, fairly small, dark wooden desk, _is the sky in the morning. Reminds me of you when we were in that one hotel in Wyoming. Can’t remember the name but… it was our first time. You were asleep on your stomach, I think, when the morning came. You lit up with it. You glowed. And then you… Cas, I can't even describe it, you did the most beautiful thing. There was gold over your skin, your hair, and you woke up slowly, your blue eyes- Cas, the light was in your eyes, how did you even manage that?- you opened them and you smiled this... soft smile. I couldn't breathe right. I still can’t when I think about it. That’s what the dawn here reminds me of and I think… I think that’s the reason I like it so much. Reminds me of when I realized just how in love with you I was._

His fingers are numbing. The light, weakened by frost, flickers briefly. Sam exhales, his breath a white cloud even with the heat fully on.

_I think you'd like it here, too. I can't wait to see you. I’ll be home soon._

It feels like eternities before Sam returns to States looking far more rugged, long hair pulled back, slight stubble to his cheeks, but when he exits the terminal, he’s greeted by Dean and Castiel who, in his excitement, knocks him over with kisses, his whole body weight thrown into the motion. Castiel doesn't let him go, he physically can’t, not then and not when they go out to the a diner and talk for a few hours about the things Sam has seen, eaten, and the people he's met, most of which are now considered overseas friends. He doesn't let go when they get Sam unpacked and settled in his room at the apartment and Dean stays for another half hour much to his frustration. He doesn't let go after Sam closes the door behind his brother, just presses hard against his back, hands roaming under Sam's shirt while Castiel kisses his shoulder lips warm through his shirt.

What starts as an innocent, long awaited embrace, becomes aggressive as Sam turns in Castiel's arms and leans down, hands cupping his face, their mouths slotting together, biting and licking. Old rhythms click into place, setting off sparks in their chests and it's bright and eager and they're kissing against every wall knocking pictures over and that little table in the hall until Sam picks Castiel up without breaking the contact of their lips. Fumbling hands wrestle with stubborn belt buckles, the clank of metal spurring them faster, their breath coming out harsh as they relinquish all control to hands that slide under clothing, hold hips in place, and all but tear through buttons and cotton material just to get to more skin. They're desperate and exploratory because they've been too long without each other that it leaves their thoughts intoxicated by touch, the only thing driving them being their need to _know_ and _feel_ until everything comes rushing back. Castiel grabs Sam’s hair by trailing his hands up the back of his neck eliciting a groan from the other man; Sam finds that one spot near Castiel’s hip that drives him wild, makes his fingers clutch at white sheets and Sam’s name slip out in a rushed pant. Exhales are lost in tousled hair, gasps coming up short in the hollow of quivering throats, easy laughter drawn from kiss plumped lips because they're giddy still even after the first time. Every hour is a second of Sam's absence that they reclaim, yet every smile and touch is worth a month by itself.

When the sun rises and their breathing is quiet and Sam is dragging the tips of his fingers over Castiel’s bare shoulder as he lays on Sam’s chest content, Sam marvels at the way their skin looks under the red orange light filling the room, the curtains allowing slats of gold to fall across Castiel's back and Sam's arm.

He murmurs ‘I love you’ into Castiel’s dark hair lit by the morning trapped in those coiled silk strands.

"Don’t leave again," Castiel grumbles out. To this, Sam laughs slightly, crosses his arms over his lover’s back and pulls him closer, feels him against his ribs and heart.

"I won’t."

"Ever," Castiel picks his head up and rests his chin on Sam’s bitten sternum, "Not without me."

"I’ll take you with me," he strokes Castiel’s cheek with the back of his knuckles, "Promise."

"We’ll go everywhere."

“‘Why not?”

"Bosnia."

"Naravno."

That's _of course_ in Bosnian. Sam’s showing off.

He settles comfortably as Castiel shimmies upward so he’s looming over Sam to give himself leverage for pressing kisses everywhere on Sam's face: eyes, nose, over the bridge of his nose, the slant of his cheekbones, his strong jaw, and across his throat.

"Germany-"

"Oktoberfest?"

"We can skip it. We’ll go to France, Norway, Belgium-"

"Mm. Waffles. Hey, did you know that their chocolate is even more amazing when it’s fresh from the store?"

The other man raises again, tilts his head, the profile of his whole body outlined in gold and red and lavender-pinks. Castiel’s ethereal above him as he considers Sam before resting his forehead on Sam's. He shuts his eyes. Castiel still smells like cinnamon, rain before the clouds even form, something distinctly his own and sorely missed while Sam was gone. He runs his hands over warm sides, the ridges of Castiel's spine like the Snæfellsjökull (Snow-Fell Glacier) mountain range at sunset, gilded, beautiful, arching and sloping perfect as it lowers to the earth, to Sam.

"Iceland," Castiel says quietly, "We’ll go to Iceland."

Sam opens his eyes slowly; his lover is still glowing, like a thousand moments of their first time in that hotel when Sam first fell in love so deeply he knew there was no getting out, no walking away ever because perfect moments happened but not to him, not until then. He slides curled fingers against his cheek once more then they slip uncurled through Castiel’s dark messy hair until Castiel catches his wrist and kisses his palm affectionately.

"Liked my letter?"

They know exactly which one he’s talking about. It’s clear in his head, in Castiel’s blue, blue eyes, can almost feel Iceland again, the distance of writing in an unfamiliar room making him too aware that there were oceans between them. Sam pulls himself back from it, stays here on their bed half covered by sheets, the floor strewn with pillows and clothes, the smell of home- _Castiel_ \- in his lungs.

"Sam, I…" Castiel exhales like his breath is a weight on his tongue that makes his head bow, "Yes. There aren’t… words to… describe how much I liked it."

Beautiful, Sam thinks, he’s beautiful like this, like he’s about to be swept away by his own admission, but Sam grabs Castiel’s face gently and brings their lips together. They move softly, chaste but needy, and Sam can feel Castiel’s hands braced on his chest, fingers dragging down, can feel his weakening resolve in the way his body trembles to keep himself composed.

"Show me," Sam whispers into his mouth as pulls away. When he opens his eyes, he almost wishes he hadn’t because Castiel is staring at him like he _loves_ , eyes full of the cool, deep waters surrounding Iceland. Dawn soaks him, cuts through Castiel like he’s stained glass hewn into Cathedral marble walls casting hues and warmth over Sam; it chases away the distance that kept him cold for so long.

Then, Castiel lowers steadily as he moves Sam's arms above his head with gentle prodding. He feels exposed, far more than when they're wound together, sweating, all heat and movement, no time for thought, because Castiel is looking at him. He's looking _at_ Sam. And the only thing that comes to Sam's mind is how floored he is by the way Castiel appears: flushed and as inevitable as the mornings in Iceland that Sam loved so much.

His breath hitches. Castiel’s hands slide up his arms unhurried; they trace veins, the racing pulse in his wrists, to his hands where their fingers entwine over the edge of the mattress. Sam can barely think when Castiel’s lips brush his. Those months he spent abroad seem like a distant memory, like the sea floor never widened the gap between continents and those lonely nights spent writing letters and wishing for home never transpired in dark, remote villages or hotel's that made a killing from one night's stay. Castiel kisses him, warm tongue gliding across his bottom lip, and Sam remembers all those years ago: that small room with peeled floral wall paper, clothes torn off in a rush that laid in a trail to his bed, and a window filling the rundown place with light. When Castiel raises, Sam finds him radiant with the sun and feels like he’s twisted under thin green sheets and he's younger and dazed and in constant awe.

He watches Castiel smile, shy and adoring, with eyes cast down then flicking up under dark lashes, and Sam is back in Wyoming falling in love all over again.


End file.
